


Heavenly Rebirth

by Mainly_Bridget



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Existential Angst, F/M, Halloween Gift Exchange, London, crypts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mainly_Bridget/pseuds/Mainly_Bridget
Summary: Canon Post-Series Ghost StorySesshoumaru's wife's remains were stolen a century ago, and he has finally found where they lay.
Relationships: Higurashi Kagome/Sesshoumaru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Heavenly Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karikara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karikara/gifts).



> Hi!
> 
> A gift for Karikara - lets just write porn and have fun.
> 
> If I missed any tags or typos, let me know! Enjoy!

Her remains were here in London. Reports of a new spirit at the operating theatre reached him a few decades ago. He’d been methodical in his search, following the leads on the grave robbers he’d found in the 1900’s and yet that method had worthlessly delayed him. 

The trail had led this Sesshoumaru across the world, and meanwhile the world changed. London was as much a home to him now as Edo ever was only because there was no space anywhere for him to truly exist. His powers might have grown with every passing century but their relevance had waned. He stood in the parking lot outside a takeaway, daring the weaklings to look at him. At his glory.

The passersby did not. They carried on. 

He could destroy nations with his claws. Resurrect every soul he’d ever missed with a mere brush against Tensaiga. If they would have wanted to live now. Perhaps not. He was not sure _he_ wanted to live now.

London and Edo looked similar now. This Sesshoumaru was unimpressed with the levels of cleanliness. He’d never needed society to keep his possessions free of grime, or his lungs pure. The vehicles flinging mortals down paved paths were pathetic replacements for his own unbridled speed. But even in the relative dark of the evening along Saint Thomas St. he was forced to submit to their standards. A black bowler hat covered his silver hair, a paste of talc and iron ore tinted his purple mark into hiding on his forehead.

The old brick building, a former surgery, was dark. Empty. Closed. No matter for him. The last human on the street in the twilight turned the corner, and he let his golden glow overtake him. Transporting in this way was freeing. Too soon it was over, he stood inside the relic where bodies were dismembered and dishonored in the name of mortal ignorance.

For Rin he might have allowed such experiments to take place. It had been beneath his attention before.

Until they’d stolen _her._

“You’re not supposed to be here.” A figure spoke from behind a display, some array of tools from the past. Spoke with a voice he’d longed to hear since the Meiji era, when she’d stopped letting him extend her life.

It was her voice, but it didn’t _feel_ like her.

Something was tainted. Wrong.

“Neither are you.” He shed his coat, shook it, letting it return to it’s unglamoured form of thick white fur. This Sesshoumaru would be comfortable while he worked.

The figure stepped out from the shadows. Her black hair, full and messy as it was back when he knew her best. Those eyes gave him pause. They were shadowed, dim. Emotionless like a soul trapped in clay. One who wanted all living things to die.

“Would you like a tour?”

He moved past her, following the unmistakable scent of tortured souls unable to pass beyond. The ancient wood creaked under his footsteps despite his intention to move with mortal speed. Just in case she needed to keep up. “What is the tour guide’s name?”

If it wasn’t her, if it was an evil being, it would have to be strong to withstand his compulsion and lie.

“You don’t recognize me?”

“Indulge me, my lady.”

It smiled at him. “Kagome.”

Both a comfort and a warning. It was either her, or very strong. “Well then my love, I would like a tour. Do you remember how you came to be here, in the wrong empire, in the wrong grave?”

She smiled, eyes still muted. “You stopped visiting.”

* * *

He followed behind her. Every step, he thought of the spirit more as her and less as they. Her perfume emanated from her neck, wafting back like a clarion call to his superior senses. Kagome had been dead for centuries, at her own request. She’d lived with him, loved him, fucked him for lifetimes before the passing of time and loss of mortal connection had wearied her.

That scent put him right back there, to their bed, to their life together. He’d forgotten how sweet it was. Half on purpose – anger kept the grief from healing.

Kagome peeked over her shoulder. “You’re very quiet. Nobody can hear us down here. If something wakes up, it will be because it senses your power, not because it heard you.”

“You don’t seem angry to be here,” he returned. The words seemed to float in the damp and musty air of the basement beneath the surgery. The narrow hallways zig-zagged to create as many small chambers as possible. Some were just holes dug into the walls, lined in stone. Others were proper rooms. No markings anywhere for the abandoned dead.

Kagome shrugged. “They were only human.”

Sesshoumaru’s eye burned red hot. “Those grave robbers, thieves, defilers do not count among the mortals I’ve been forced to allow to live.”

“They found a body in an untended grave and gave it a new one. Defilers or no, I have no hatred for them.”

Her tone was even, mild. Sesshoumaru squinted. Had her soul finally melded with Kikyo’s in death? Kikyo who served the opposite of his power, joylessly severing souls from life? He reached out, his hand grazing where fabric should be along her shoulder. 

“I did not−”

She dodged him. Her eyes sparkled now with unshed tears. “You’ve come now to let me go. Again.”

“You let _me_ go, Kagome. You left this Sesshoumaru to live out his eternity alone.”

“I needed rest,” she gulped, her voice high and petulant. “I didn’t expect you to leave me to rot.”

“I was honoring your wishes.” He spat the word. Her last request has been a dagger in his heart.

She shrugged him off. “Apologize to my corpse.”

The winding corridor was filled with spirits, dormant and unhappy. Eventually Sesshoumaru was numb to the sting of their attention, no longer suspecting one to wake up, desperate and hungry. The reached the end, a final room just beyond. Kagome stood at the threshold in contrapposto. 

“There it is, it’s in there. Place your grave dirt from my shrine, cram that stone marker on top and leave me in my hole.”

Sesshoumaru felt a howl building in his chest. Fury that her mind could have changed and he would be left unknowing. That he could have brought her back and seen her eyes sparkle with life and paid no moral price.

She was crossing the threshold into the chamber when he pulled her back, practically throwing her into the wall not three feet away. She could take it. She was already dead.

When she met his eyes through the uneven edged of her bangs, they burned with a familiar ember. Kagome had enjoyed reminding him that her entire being was built to destroy him. Her loving hands could trace the divine brand into his skin, letting it scar for weeks before his body healed.

He pressed her into the wall, his poison claws wrapping around her neck. She stared him down. Kagome was brave. Foolishly brave. He could believe that her unblinking gaze was that bravery.

Sesshoumaru tucked her forehead under his chin, as if soothing her into submission. “My Kagome, you had faith that I would never release my hold on you even and death. Are you asking me to undo your foolish mortal death-wish?”

She wouldn’t. His Kagome wouldn’t. The voice his father had demanded he obey, that compassionate weakling living in his mind shouted against it.

But there was something louder there. She regretted her human choice. Her submission to mortality. She wanted him.

Her hands were small, cold as they tucked around his waist. She tugged him close enough to nuzzle at his collar bone, carefully keeping her neck from the acidic threat of his grip. 

Hunger raced through him at her touch. It had been so long since another living thing had warmed his skin. The pressure of her fingers was familiar, so much so he tightened in well trained anticipation.

He could not let her think he’d left her to rot out of lack of interest.

“I would undo it, gladly.” He kicked her ankle wide, flipped up the skirt so like her day clothes from their early adventures.

Her flesh was warm, solid, and by the gasp that tickled against his chest he supposed sensitive. A wave of affection rushed through him. Kagome’s hands fisted into his mortal linen garment, pulling it up into a state of dishevelment.

He curled in his fingers, only letting his knuckles tease her though the garments that clothed her even in the afterlife. “This is how I would reward you for returning to me, my evening star.”

Kagome panted as his hands found a cadence, kneading the dampening fabric with stoic efficacy.

He pulled her up, holding her aloft pressed brutally against the crypt wall. He tilted her hips and thrust his cock into her flush channel. “I brought this from our home to place into your shrine.” He pulled out slowly until his head was stretching her tender muscle and savored the return of her heat when he pressed forward again. “I will cram this in to mark your grave here.” He grunted. He’d forgotten how much stronger her cunt was than his hand. “Let my spend anoint this place and send all souls save yours to rest.”

Kagome opened one eye, sparkling with forgotten laughter. “I don’t think this is how Tensaiga works, Sesh.”

The surprise of hearing her teasing, the rush of emotion at her affection, tipped him over the edge. He came messily, filling her and leaving her thighs marked with his seed.

* * *

He pressed Tensaiga to her forehead. The soul grew from the distance, it’s aura gathering strength to rejoin the living in this body that he held so dear. When the sword finished it’s task she was there with him, whole and warm and real for as long as he had claws.

If her aura was not that pure pink softness he remembered, what matter was it. She was his. Stony eyes and all.


End file.
